


Man-to-Man

by half_sleeping



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, lots of falling down, teens making out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_sleeping/pseuds/half_sleeping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takao asks Midorima for help improving his game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man-to-Man

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this fic, ‘As should be perfectly obvious’ stands in for ‘nanodayo’, as a way to convey that Midorima uses ‘nanodayo’ to emphasize his statements as his verbal tic.

“Shin-chan,” says Takao, one lunch. He sucks on his banana milk, thinking. “How’s my defence?”

There’s a pause. Midorima, seated above him on the edge of the ledge, is considering the question. It won’t ever have occurred to him to examine his teammates before now, Takao knows, though he's heard Shin-chan produce whole dissertations on the evolution of Kaijou's Kise, offer scathing critique of Kagami's flexibility or lack thereof. They just don't fall within his purview. Takao takes the opportunity to reach for one of the onigiri Shin-chan’s mom packed today for his lunch. Mmm, salmon.

“Your defense could certainly use a great deal of work,” says Midorima, and smacks Takao’s thieving little paws. “However, your build and position restrict you from taking an over-active role in team defense anyway, as should be perfectly obvious.”

“I’m useless, but I won’t be used anyway,” says Takao, sucking on his fingers. “Okay. Shin-chan, I want to improve my defence.”

“An admirable goal,” says Midorima, losing interest and re-applying himself to his lunch, brushing his fingers over the rice ball like he’s afraid Takao got germs all over it.

“I’m going to change my practice routines to do it.”

“It’s not efficient,” says Midorima. “We play the outside. Our seniors are the ones whose defensive skills are most vital to the team, as should be perfectly obvious.”

“But,” says Takao, setting down his depleted milk packet, “what if I _need_ to? We’re not going to have them forever, you know.” He looks at Midorima’s face. “When people go into teams with third-years on them, at the end of the year, the third-years graduate, and then-”

“I know _that_ ,” snaps Shin-chan, though Takao wonders if he does. Being on the same team for three years may have made the Generation of Miracles thoroughly sick of each other, but Takao sometimes misses his own yearmates, the ones who gave up in the face of Teikou’s supremacy, the ones who just didn’t aim as high as Takao has decided to. Even as uncomprehending and unsympathetic a comrade as Midorima Shintarou is better than standing on the court by yourself.

“Well, they’ll be going to a better place,” he sighs.

“...University?” says Shin-chan acidly.

 Takao sighs harder. “Yes,” he says.

Shin-chan is too well-bred to roll his eyes, but from the way his stare flickers, he _really wants to_. Takao grins in his face.

“I’ve still got a bit to grow, you know,” says Takao. Or at least, that’s what he’ll damn well go on believing. “You agree that my defense is a weak point?”

“Yes,” says Midorima instantly, almost as though he can’t help himself.

“You agree I should improve all my weak points to improve my basketball?”

“Yes.”

“You really, very definitely think humans should do everything we can?”

“Yes.”

“You think I could benefit from studying your game?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you for offering to improve my defense, Shin-chan,” says Takao, jumping to his feet. “You’re a great friend. Put ‘er there.” And Takao grabs Shin-chan’s hand and shakes it vigorously.

“That is _not_ what I-”

“What a great guy such a helpful teammate,” says Takao loudly to the air. “Giving up his post-practice shooting time for me, well I never.” Takao throws his arms around Midorima and sobs into his shoulder. “I’ll never forget you for this, buddy,” he tells him. ‘You’re a good friend.”

By the repulsed expression on Shin-chan’s face, Takao can tell he’s going to be made to regret scoring off Shin-chan in this way, but when Shin-chan drops his shoulders and sighs, Takao knows he’s won. As they bear up again under Takao’s weight, Takao pushes himself off their width, like he’s doing a push-up. Shin-chan doesn’t even quiver.

“Why don’t you just ask the captain for tips?” Shin-chan says, instead. This is a weird angle, like Midorima’s looking up at Takao through his lashes, though their faces aren’t close at all. Takao lets go.

“Between you and the captain, Shin-chan,” Takao says in a reasonable voice.

“-True,” says Midorima, again, almost like he can’t help himself. Hee. “But,” he says, pushing up his glasses, “if I’m giving up my shooting practice to coach you-”

“Oh,” says Takao, too-innocently. “You could ask for something in return… but then I’d have to tell all our sempai that you think your defense is way better than theirs.”

Midorima sputters. “I did _not_ -”

“YOU SO DID,” Takao crows, and then, very prudently, runs off the roof before Shin-chan can catch up.

.0.

“We’re doing pass drills on the outdoor court today,” says Miyaji-sempai to Takao, after official practice is done. “Joining?”

“Pass,” says Takao. “Shin-chan’s going to be helping me with defense for a while. We’ll be practicing together.”

The entire pack of sempai stops in their tracks.

“Why?” says Kimura-sempai.

“I want to work on my defense,” says Takao.

“No, why’s _he_ doing it?” says Kimura-sempai.

“He’s a really good friend,” says Takao.

They stare at him. “No, really,” says Autograph-kun.

“I asked him and he said yes,” says Takao. “Isn’t that a good friend? Round of applause all around, now.”

Their gazes don’t waver.

“No,” Miyaji-sempai says. “Really.”

“Really!” says Takao. Shin-chan, who’s been here all along listening to Takao defend his honour with outright lies, snorts.

Takao bounces up to him. “When do we start, Shin-chan?” he says.

“When you’ve secured our practice space,” says Midorima, admiring the sheen on a carving fork like he wants to stab someone with it. Takao prudently edges away.

Takao shrugs his shoulders at the court around them, which is Shin-chan’s usual shooting practice court, on which he uses a selfish request every day. The other club members have already prepared to vacate it, and someone a lot more obliging than either of them has pulled the big cage of basketballs to the half-court line.

“You want the extra training, _you_ ask for the court,” Midorima says. “As should be perfectly obvious.”

“You’d get it with one of your selfish requests anyway!” whines Takao.

“It’s not my request,” points out Midorima. “It’s yours.”

“We’re already at the end of the day!” Takao keeps trying. “What are you even going to use it on?”

Midorima crosses his arms.

Sighing, Takao turns to the sempai, who stare at him owlishly. “Thank you for your consideration!” he says, bowing deeply. Bereft of words, they turn their backs on him and leave.

“He’s really going to do it,” Kimura-sempai says.

“Well, Midorima’s got good defence,” someone says reasonably, if not logically or believably. “Why wouldn’t someone ask him for help?”

Someone else snorts comprehensively, “Because then you’d have to endure one-on-one coaching _from Midorima_.”

And that, Takao thinks, watching Shin-chan stretch out his forearms, thoughtful and slow, his eyes tracking an invisible play over the empty court, is very, very true. It’s cute, this serious side of Shin-chan, but it’s thrilling, too. Takao isn’t going to catch up to him at this rate. He needs to try harder.

It isn’t just the higher level of Teikou training that makes Shin-chan like this, Takao thinks. Not his build, or Oha Asa. It’s something he’s not sure ordinary people can touch. Because this is Shin-chan, and the Generation of Miracles: anything but ordinary.

It makes him grit his teeth.

“Watch low,” says Midorima, two extremely painful hours later. “They can fake with their hands or their eyes, but it’s considerably harder to change direction once the knees or torso is in motion.”

Takao backs off, expecting a fake, or a drive, but Midorima just straightens up and shoots, long before Takao can dart back and steal the ball.

Takao curses him.

Midorima ignores this grandly, continuing his lecture. He makes the shot. “And if you move too far away to anticipate a fake, your mark may always seize the opportunity to take the shot.” He cracks his neck. “As should be perfectly obvious.”

“Shin-chan, bullying!” whines Takao.

“Nonsense,” says Midorima. Yeah, he’s going to make Takao pay for every minute of personal coaching Takao rips away from shooting practice, but it’s nice to see a Shin-chan like this. Takao has had his doubts, before this summer, that Teikou’s Midorima would ever summon up any joy in playing with them. That he would feel, like Takao does, the short sharp stab of joy in victory, in looking over the court at Shin-chan, in being on the same side and team, being Shuutoku’s light and shadow.

It’s nice to see him smiling, when he’s playing basketball with them.

.0.

Four sessions later, Takao brings up the subject of fouls. Shin-chan really has been incredibly good- Takao had only expected to get one or two sessions out of him, but Shin-chan is taking pains over Takao’s coaching. This is the second week that they’re doing this, and Midorima evenly splits his time between shooting practice and defense coaching. When they pull off a spectacular man-to-man in a practice game against Meisei, Takao almost catches Midorima biting down on a fond smile, and teases a blush out of Midorima by flaunting his newfound prowess to the sempai. Takao’s ready for the next step.

“You have to play against me _seriously_ ,” he says, spinning a basketball on his finger while Shin-chan takes a water break.

Midorima looks at him. “You’d never learn anything.” He returns to gulping water.

“Shin-chan, you wound me,” says Takao, letting the ball come to rest in the crook of his elbow. “I mean, what about rough play?”

“As I’ve told you,” Midorima says, wiping his chin with the edge of his shirt. “Your build and position make it unlikely and untenable that-”

“What about Kasamatsu-san?” Takao says, he feels, reasonably enough. “He’s a PG, but that didn’t stop him from playing defence against Aomine and getting knocked over.”

Takao nods, sagely and wisely, as Midorima pauses, his shirt still hiked up to around his ribs. "Kasamatsu-san stopped Aomine, though he got knocked over for doing it." Takao had never more dearly regretted a tournament elimination, seeing the snarl cross Kasamatsu’s face. He bounces the ball once. Twice.

"If Aomine had been paying attention, there would have been no need to incur a foul," Midorima returns, but clearly the memory carries some weight. "Aomine's control has drastically improved since- but yes, it is intimidating and risky for a player of smaller build to mark a larger player.”

“Shin-chan,” says Takao. “That’s going to have to be something I’m prepared for, right? If I want to do _everything I can_? You of all people should know that bigger and bigger players are entering the league every year. If I’m not prepared for the future-”

“You want me to foul you,” says Midorima, smacking the ball out of Takao’s hand.

“Yes,” says Takao. “Wait, no, what?”

“Defense!” barks Midorima, starting to make for the far goal post.

Takao reacts on instinct. If Shin-chan has picked the far then Takao has to stop him before he gets there. They’ve banned three-pointers for the duration of defense coaching, but Midorima can float a lay-up with the best of them. Midorima lays the kind of penalties on failure which would give Aida Riko bright ideas.

Takao steals the ball and makes a break for the opposite basket. It’s too easy, but Shin-chan shouldn’t underestimate Takao, shouldn’t-

And then Shin-chan _hits him_. Seventy-nine kilograms of basketball player rams into Takao from the side, going fast enough that even though he's expecting it Takao never sees it coming, and he almost bites his tongue with how _hard_ Shin-chan hits him, sending them both sprawling to the floor.

And, fucking hell, _the pain_. It starts at point of impact- Shin-chan’s bony shoulders- and shudders through Takao’s body. He could probably get hit by Kimura-san’s truck and it wouldn’t hurt this much, because he’d be dead then.

Shin-chan sits up and rubs his arm- his right arm, Takao notes sourly.

“Shin-chan you don’t even hold back one bit, do you,” says Takao rhetorically, between the wheezes of pain.

“That would have been redundant, as should be perfectly obvious,” says Shin-chan. “Besides,” he adds grimly, "you've never been hit by Murasakibara. I assure you this was mild by comparison.”

Even wracked with pain, Takao chokes on a snort imagining Shin-chan colliding with Yousen's center, more monster than mountain.

"While he was playing offense," says Midorima, and his mouth thins. He looks reproachfully at Takao, wracked with both laughter and pain. "I had to go home with a concussion."

"Your luck must not have been good that day," Takao tells him, not even trying to keep a straight face. Laughing hurts, but not laughing would hurt more.

"It wasn't," Midorima says. "But it could have been worse. Once, Kuroko-" but he stops short on that reminisce, thrown back ten months in an instant. Takao doesn’t chase it, too intent on trying to convince his body he wants to get back up.

“He had to sit out the finals,” Shin-chan says, standing up. “But he was also lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Takao grimaces as he tries to do the same and overbalances, tipping over. Midorima catches him by the back of his shirt and hauls him up, which only makes Takao hurt even more.

“If you want to play the inside you’ll need to be _wary_ of rough play,” Midorima continues, remorselessly. “If it hadn’t been for the necessity of stopping Aomine at that time, Kasamatsu should never have undertaken such a reckless move. As I’ve clearly demonstrated, courting contact might result in injury, and is extremely inadvisable no matter what position you’re playing.”

“Serves me right for bringing him up, I see,” groans Takao.

“If you want to improve your defense, you have to be alive to _all_ the attendant dangers of inside play,” Midorima tells him smugly, but he takes hold of Takao’s arm, and shoulder, and feels along them. Takao doesn’t think of himself as _soft_ by any measure, but Midorima’s fingers dig in like steel bars, six times as painful. The manipulation is skillful and measured, Shin-chan even running his hand down Takao’s back, pressing at extraordinarily painful knots. “You’ll just bruise, as should be perfectly obvious.” Midorima tells him. “Stretch out well before you sleep and after you wake up- especially if it hurts. We’ll end here for today.”

“And by that you mean,” says Takao.

Midorima looks at him, and Takao imagines he can almost see remorse trickling through Shin-chan’s head. “I will cycle you back home,” he says, calmly.

“Shin-chan, I love you,” Takao says, sincerely.

“You seem exceptionally easy to please,” Midorima tells him, but ducks his head, embarrassed.

Midorima forces him through every single cool-down exercise, including some Takao’s certain Shin-chan’s just made up this instant to torture him. Today, Takao gets away with not having to lug the uprooted _Shishi-odoshi_ out to the rickshaw, and plays with it as Shin-chan, having deposited him in the cart, goes back to get their bags. The noise the pole makes as it strikes the rickshaw walls is comforting.

“The more you lie about now, the more pain you’ll be in tomorrow,” says Shin-chan, when he catches Takao doing this. Takao hasn’t even bothered to sit up, and he looks at Midorima upside-down, from which angle he appears remarkably attractive. “As should be perfectly obvious.”

 _Thock_ , is his only reply.

Shin-chan must be hurting too, because he takes a less arduous route to Takao’s house than the one he’s previously decreed Takao should always take- one that winds and is longer, but avoids hills and for some reason, traffic lights. They take a shortcut through the park as Takao lies back and enjoys the view.

And the smell.

“Takoyaki!” Takao cries, pointing at the approaching stand.

“You’ll spoil your dinner,” Midorima says.

“Doesn’t it smell good, Shin-chan?” says Takao. “My mouth’s watering. Mmm, imagine how good they’ll taste because we’re tired from practice. I’m hungry. Are you hungry? I’m soooooo hungry.”

Midorima turns around on the seat to glare at him. This also means the bicycle slows to a stop.

“I think I hurt too much to reach for my wallet,” says Takao, and flops down pathetically.

Midorima sighs, and threatens, “Then I’ll just get some for myself.”

“Stingy,” Takao says, and _thocks_ the lucky item some more.

Midorima comes back with a pack, and stabs a spare toothpick into another ball while his mouth is full, holding it just out of easy reach.

Takao looks at it, sauce glistening in the light. Shin-chan’s bandaged fingers are perilously close to stain territory.

“I hurt too much to feed myself?” tries Takao.

“You’re pathetic,” Shin-chan says, flatly, but the takoyaki, when Takao opens his mouth to ingest it, is soft, steaming, delicious, and thoroughly burns his tongue.

It’s sort of a great night, really.

.0.

The next day, Takao’s back is one giant bruise. He takes off his shirt in the locker room and winces theatrically, which, once he’s recounted the full story, attracts the attention and sympathy of precisely no one.

“You should have known better than to provoke him,” says Kimura, uncritically.

“You didn’t have to ask him to put you through the wringer,” adds Miyaji-sempai, when Takao lies on the bench and asks to die.

“It’ll go away,” says Ootsubo-san, stepping over Takao’s outflung arm.

“Stop complaining,” says Shin-chan, and pulls off his own clothes after arranging the empty file binders where they’ll get into everyone else’s way but his.

Takao lies supine and watches Midorima pull his shirt over the dark mottling on his shoulder. Shin-chan looks so big from down here.

“Get up,” says Midorima, nudging Takao’s shoulder with his knee. “I want to change my shoes.”

Takao drags on his shirt with dignity. In truth, though he woke up aching today, the pain’s faded somewhat, so it’s no worse and no better than right after a long game, except when Takao moves, stretches, breathes.

His respite ends when they split up again for after-hours practice. Shin-chan is merciless, and this time there’s no massage or grudging solicitude, probably because Takao asks him where these things have gone in front of all the sempai. Takao pays for that over and over again, but Takao can’t help it if Midorima’s going to blush so delicately, like a flower in bloom. Keeping up with a Shin-chan intent on pushing him right to the edge has to have _some_ perks.

Takao lies on the court, and asks to die.

“You cannot _still_ be-” starts Midorima, but then Takao lunges up and pulls Midorima down with him, hands clenched in the back of his equally sweaty shirt, in revenge.

They crash to the floor, and this time Takao receives Midorima’s full weight to his chest, though on reflection this collision happens so slowly that it’s less catastrophe and more clowning around, and Takao is chuckling before he has the breath to do so, replaying Midorima’s squawk of affront in his mind. Midorima isn’t hurt at all, beginning a thundering scold on the incredible sacrifice he’s making for Takao’s sake, the lengths he’s gone to impress upon Takao that injuries are no laughing matter, the shortsightedness and immaturity inherent in playing such childish pranks during a game.

He raises himself on his elbow, but this just puts his face right over Takao’s, and his diatribe halts as Takao laughs up at him, eyes shining. Shin-chan blinks, losing focus, and Takao only creases up even more, grinning fit to split his face.

And then Midorima leans down, and very carefully brushes his lips over Takao’s.

Takao freezes, the smile dying on his lips. And all he can think is no, this is not right. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. This isn’t what Takao wants, what he came here for, he wants- he wants-

Midorima jerks back onto his heels, sitting up. Free of his weight, Takao scrambles backwards out of reach and presses the back of his hand to his lips. His skin is cool but his mouth is burning; he feels the heat travel up his cheeks.

Midorima’s mouth opens. Closes. “Takao-” he says. Takao’s never seen Shin-chan look like this.

“I-” he says. He comes off his heels a little, reaching for Takao.

Takao doesn’t want to hear it. He backs away some more, on his hands and legs like an upside-down spider. Midorima’s hand drops. Takao watches him look down, and, free of that gaze, gets up and runs away.

.0.

It only occurs to Takao when he’s home that he’s left the rickshaw in school and totally failed to change out of his basketball shoes, dragging his shirt and jacket on over his sweaty practice clothes. He’s also forgotten his belt in the locker, but at least that he can wear his jacket closed until he can go back and get it tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, when he has to see the most awkward person alive, which he usually does before school when he picks Shin-chan up or meets him at the train station, and between classes, when they see each other in the halls or Takao irritates Midorima by screaming “SHIN-CHAN!!!” and waving madly from the third floor, and during lunch, which they eat on the roof together, and after school, when they pair up for practice, and after practice, when they have the defense special coaching Takao himself requested.

(Actually, when he lays it out like that, Takao can totally see why Midorima might think that- misinterpret his- assume that- _fucking hell_.)

.0.

By the dint of arriving at school almost fifteen minutes late- and being written up for not arriving in his school shoes into the bargain- Takao bypasses any chance that Midorima is lying in ambush to catch him, small as those chances are. He spends lunch skulking in the home ec room getting hungrier and hungrier because he won’t risk buying bread and running into Shin-chan. Takao buys an extra melon bread off his classmate and crams it into his mouth just before the bell rings, back pressed to the wall under the windows which line the corridor where Shin-chan won’t think of looking for him. By the time practice rolls around, Takao contemplates calling in sick, but unless he’s prepared to actually throw himself from the roof Takao is not going to get away with _that_ more than once. He sucks it up, and gets himself down to practice and out into the gym in record time, before Shin-chan can even look up from watering today’s lucky item.

Coach calls for them to form pairs for drills. Takao reaches the balls first and digs for one that isn’t worn down by years of use, using his newfound ferocity to slap away hands that are also reaching for- oh.

“Sorry,” murmurs Midorima, as he withdraws his hand. Takao has never seen his shoulders so tight, and that’s saying something.

“Don’t-” _mind_ , Takao means to say, the first thing he’s said to Shin-chan all day, but he chokes on it. Don’t be sorry, he wants to say, suddenly, wants to yell. Don’t be sorry, as if you didn’t mean it, when you’ve changed- you’ve _spoiled_ everything. Don’t act like nothing’s changed, like I can just forget. Don’t be sorry because I can’t-

Takao turns it into a cough, hacking realistically into his hand. The seniors and Takao’s so-called friends make disgusted noises and edge away, and Shin-chan moves with them, slowly and steadily, as if Takao is about to spook. Takao watches him go, helplessly. His gaze slides to the side of his head, and no matter what Takao does, how his head is screaming, he can't seem to tear it away.

Don’t be scared of me.

Midorima turns and engages Kimura to partner with him for drill practice, carefully not looking Takao's way. Being among the first to pair off, they drift to the other side of the gym to give the others room to maneuver. Midorima still doesn't look back, and throws himself into drills like there's nothing else on his mind, which to be fair, there might be. Midorima never lets anything interfere with his basketball.

Don’t be scared of me, Shin-chan.

Takao grabs a drink from the bench, and is one of the last to pair off, hurrying into place across from a second-year centre on the opposite side of the room from Midorima.

Practice goes on.

.0.

“We’re done for today?” says Miyaji-sempai, when Coach releases them to do even more practice. He turns to Midorima and Takao, both gulping deep from their bottles. “You guys want the full court again, or can some of the rest of us get in some court practice for once?”

"Impossible," says Shin-chan, lifting his miniature pine tree with great care, studying the dark green of the shiny leaves. "I have a prior engagement. I am leaving ear- exactly on time."

Miyaji-sempai stares at him. “You are, are you?” he says.

“Yes,” says Midorima. Miyaji-sempai cracks his jaw, and fills his lungs.

"Enough," says the captain, heading off the explosion. "I'm sure he'll make up the practice on his own time. If he has to go, he has to go."

Midorima inclines his head. "Of course," he says, as proud and cold and distant as the champions Teikou. "I'll be going now."

Miyaji-sempai grumbles, deprived of prey. "I thought you two were doing extra practice together these days," he says to Takao. “Did he tell you he was going off?”

Takao shrugs. It’s not like he wants to see Shin-chan right now, either. Takao might as well improve his ball-handling, and he can do that all by himself.

Just before Shin-chan leaves, they lock eyes across the court. Takao can’t believe no one else thinks anything is wrong. Midorima’s face is stiff and shuttered, and he hasn’t slept well, and he’s keeping his lucky item closer than usual, touching it whenever he can. There’s a faint droop to his mouth, too, a twist of unhappiness.

Oh, Shin-chan.

Takao forgets to look away this time before Midorima can catch him, too intent on reading into Shin-chan’s face.

Midorima ducks his head, bites his lip, and this time is the first to run away. 

But that’s good. That’s better. For the first time all day, Takao can drop his guard, and _think_.

Even if now, all he can think about- and Takao can admit this to himself, finally- is Midorima kissing him. Not an accident. Probably a mistake. Hoo boy.

Takao misses the shot.

Takao can’t help but wonder if he’s the first Shin-chan has tried it on. If he only likes boys, or if he’d look at a girl like that, eyes dark and purposeful, if he’s looked at someone else like that before, or-

He catches the ball on the rebound and sets up another lay-up, zig-zagging imaginary defenders.

Kise, maybe, remembers Takao, thinks of his perfect features, and the number of times the ace has messaged Shin-chan, the way Midorima reads each message carefully before consigning it to the trash. Takao can understand wanting to kiss Kise, if you wanted to kiss boys, beautiful and sleek and sly, shining brighter than anyone else Takao has ever met.

Well. This is stupid. Takao hadn’t even wanted to kiss Midorima, and now here he is making himself jealous of people he’s pretty sure Midorima has never even thought of kissing.

Fairly sure. Mostly sure.

Takao misses the shot.

Maybe Shin-chan is just confused. Takao is going to have to let him down lightly. Maybe he thinks that perfect zodiac compatibility means he has to- Maybe there’s been an unkind hoax on Oha Asa’s viewers, and Shin-chan had thought he’d have to get a kiss from an unsuspecting teammate.

Maybe Shin-chan had just thought there was no way Takao would turn him away.

That would be like Shin-chan, wouldn’t it? Takao can just imagine him coolly listing his good points on his fingers, running out of fingers before points. Why wouldn’t someone like him? Why wouldn’t Takao like him?

Shoots. Misses.

Doesn’t Takao like him?

Shoots.

.0.

The rickshaw has been left again, looking sad and lonely behind the shed with no one to ride in the back. Pulling it empty is lonely. Takao has cycled for almost twenty minutes before he realises he’s heading through the park again. There’s no vendor today, the stall closed and shuttered.

But there. There’s Shin-chan, sleeves rolled up, and shooting three-pointers, over and over again, in the flickering light from the park lamps, and jogging to catch every shot before it rolls away. The court is so old and neglected that the lamps flicker on and off, interfering with Midorima’s perfect conditions.

Takao’s off the bike before he realises he’s doing it, skulking through the trees and keeping to the shadows. Prior engagements his ass. The goalpost is old and rickety, and the racket is deafening. Shin-chan is throwing with even more force than usual, and Takao wonders if he’s been here the whole time, too awkward to go home early.

Shin-chan chases the ball, brings it back to the half-court line. He lines up to shoot again and this time Takao catches the ball on the rebound as it bounces towards the trees.

Shin-chan stops breathing. Takao quirks a small weak smile, and steps into the light.

“Sorry,” he says, and throws the ball back to Shin-chan.

The ball goes wide, but Midorima lets out his breath as he catches it with two steps and an outstretched arm. “You shouldn’t stand behind the hoop,” Midorima says. “You could have been seriously hurt.” He adjusts his glasses. “As should be perfectly obvious.”

Takao laughs, which sounds awkward even to him. “Not with you, Shin-chan,” he says. He drops his bag on the side. “You stiffed me today.”

Midorima sniffs, but the tension leaks from his shoulders, and he clears his throat.

“I’m having shooting practice,” he says, making a reasonable attempt at normal. “You can stand and watch, if you like.”

Takao stops, miffed. Shin-chan shoots and Takao dives out of the way, but Shin-chan just waits at the half court while it lands, expecting Takao to bring it back to him.

Takao does, because what can you do? He throws it to Shin-chan again, and when Midorima winds up to shoot, demands loudly, “Is this how you treat the person you like, Shin-chan?”

The shot rebounds off the backboard. The flush Takao likes so much is back, emblazoned on pale cheeks. Midorima fists his hands and stands tall, daring Takao to make something more out of it. “Yes,” he says.

It’s Takao’s turn to be embarrassed, and wonder what Shin-chan is seeing. “Okay,” he says.

“What?” says Midorima.

Takao waves his hands around. “I said okay,” he says. “You li- I mean- okay. Okay. Fine.”

Don’t be scared of me, Shin-chan.

Midorima crosses the court, and Takao stays where he is. “Fine,” he says, stopping very close.

“Shin-chan,” says Takao, looks up.

Takao expects Shin-chan to blush again, to stutter, to hesitate, but when Midorima wraps his steady hand around Takao’s wrist, he leans in without waiting. And Takao would keep expecting the tremble or the pause, except that-

Except that when Midorima Shintarou is sure, he is unstoppable.

This time when their mouths touch Takao is ready, holding his breath and closing his eyes, Shin-chan's right hand wrapped around his wrist and the other light pressure under Takao's chin, tipping his head upwards. Takao feels the roughness of Midorima’s fingertips, and the heat of his skin.

Midorima kisses him even more carefully than before, comically bent over. Takao feels the laugh bubble out of him before he can stop it, and breaks contact before he can laugh in Shin-chan’s face.

“This is awful,” he says, means, _are you sure_.

But Shin-chan is still holding onto him, and Takao is still tilting his face up, and it’s the most natural thing in the world to try again.

It isn't fair that Shin-chan can be so new and so good at this, that his hands seem to move exactly right, that Takao is gasping for air so much sooner than Shin-chan is, grabbing for purchase on Midorima’s jacket and slinging his arm around Midorima’s neck.

The light goes on, and off, and on again, and they’re both definitely out much later than they should be, but yeah, Takao thinks, this is going to be just fine.

.0.

Entering the locker room on Monday, Takao is confronted with the concerned faces of his seniors, all huddled together on the benches very seriously discussing something Takao is instantly certain is utterly ridiculous.

He’s right.

“Takao, why are you blocking the door,” demands Shin-chan, and brushes past him to also stutter to a stop as he faces the wall of sempai.

Takao shrugs. “Shin-chan, I think it’s you,” he says, putting a serious expression on his face as he looks up at Midorima.

Who casts him an irritated look. “Stop joking around, it should be perfectly obvious,” he says.

The seniors let out a combined sigh of relief.

“I can’t believe I wasted my time worrying about them when they made up in _one day_ ,” says Miyaji-sempai very loudly as the seniors stream off to their usual activities.

Shin-chan rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, clearly blaming Takao for the fact that Shin-chan couldn’t keep a secret if you covered his face in sports tape. They endure a multitude of small lectures on the importance of not being childish and fighting with your teammates, with the end result that they’re the last ones in the changing room.

“That’s really touching concern,” says Takao, tying his shoelaces. “We should be grateful, Shin-chan. All these good wishes for our happiness.”

Shin-chan glares down at Takao’s head, which is awful rich coming from the guy who’d pulled Takao into the shadow of the stairwell before they came down from the roof, to kiss him until they were both gasping, until the bell rung, tasting of the shiruko he’d drunk with his lunch. Red bean, for celebration. 

“Their concern is appreciated but unwarranted,” Midorima says, unconvincingly, “as should be perfectly obvious.”

“Conflict within the team is everyone’s business,” says Nakatani, with the effect of silencing them both. The man must have cat feet. “It was visibly affecting the both of you. Of course they are glad it was resolved.” _Without bloodshed_ , his eyebrows seem to say, which Takao thinks is unfair.

Takao salutes him. Midorima nods stiffly and busies himself unwrapping his fingers.

“Though obviously,” Nakatani says, as he leaves them, “as a teacher, I will not be able to condone and would indeed frown heavily on any public displays of affection in school.”

Shin-chan sputters, but before he can give them both away Nakatani is already gone, and Takao has rolled under the bench choking on keeping his laughter inside his lungs.

“Naughty Shin-chan,” he manages, before words fail him. Midorima, ears red, carefully arranges his bag and folded uniform perfectly before he emerges again, frowning at Takao, who still can’t stop laughing at him.

“You were the one who tempted me,” says Shin-chan, crossly. Takao is all set to make fun of him for saying it when the words catch up with the tone in Takao’s ears and he turns to look into Shin-chan’s dark, accusing eyes, and Takao blushes, feeling the heat in Shin-chan’s- smile? Holy shit that _is_ a smile- scorch his skin.

.0.

Shin-chan is playing defense in today’s mini-game, and though Nakatani relieves his feelings by putting them in on opposite sides with an injunction to show off the results of their extra training, it’s a good game, fast-paced and focused, until a second-year centre trips over his feet while trying to get past Takao and downs Midorima and Takao both at once, like awful dominos.

Takao struggles to his feet first and laughs at the disgust on Shin-chan’s face, and the panic on the other player’s. Midorima waves off the senior’s profuse apologies and untangles himself.

He puts out his hand for Takao to pull him up, which frankly is only going to be damaging to both their dignities, but Takao takes it anyway.

"Charging," says Midorima dispassionately, once he’s up again, though Takao may be the only person who thinks Shin-chan is holding his hands too long. "That's a foul."


End file.
